by Tim Waggoner
"You're wrong," I said.
Gregor scuttled over to me so rapidly that it seemed he teleported across the distance. Alarmed, Shamika assumed an insectine form like his and started toward him, obviously intending to protect me, but I shook my head. She stopped, hesitated a moment, and then returned to her human form.
Gregor leaned in close until his giant roach face was only inches from mine.
"What do you mean?" he asked softly.
"You can't succeed for one simple reason," I said. "You've already lost. You told us that after you teleported Devona here, you released her from her trance because you saw no need to keep her in it. But then you said you found it, and I quote, 'oddly gratifying' to have someone watch as you put your plan into action. You hate Otherness, Gregor. So why would you enjoy having someone else here with you while you worked?"
Gregor's gem-like eyes were impossible to read, so I went on.
"And what about my hand?" I said.
Gregor cocked his head, puzzled. "What about it?"
"My severed hand, the one you accidentally teleported along with Devona. Once it got here, it hid itself until you were distracted, and then Devona was able to use it to send me a message."
"So?"
I said, "So how was that possible? And I don't mean the animated severed-hand part. I admit that's weird, but I know I can exert some control over my body parts once they've been separated from me, and I guess they have a life of their own, at least in some small ways. What I'm talking about is how could anything take place inside this dome without your knowledge? This place is made from your body, right? It is you. So how could you not be aware my severed hand was skulking about?"
Gregor didn't say anything at first, but he shifted his weight back and forth several times, as if he were agitated and trying not to show it.
"I've been rather busy, you know." He sounded more than a little defensive. "You can't possibly imagine the magical and technological complexity of dimensional transference. The concentration required to get all the calculations just right…" He trailed off, sounding unconvinced by his own words.
"You're a group mind, Gregor," I reminded him. "You've got more mental capacity than all the Darkfolk combined. And yet you failed to notice my hand. Why?"
Gregor had no answer for that, so I answered for him.
"It's because your mind isn't clear. You're not thinking straight. I mean, why did you bother explaining your plan once Shamika and I got here? Why did you answer all the questions I asked you? I'll tell you why: because you wanted us to appreciate how smart you are. You've spent so much time observing Others, Gregor, that you've changed. Maybe you haven't changed as much as Shamika, but like her, you've become infected by Otherness. You've begun to appreciate it, to need it. And because of that, your emotions are beginning to override your intellect, interfering with it and clouding your thinking. And there's no going back to the way you were. Even if you got rid of the Darkfolk, even if you somehow managed to get rid of Shamika, some part of you would still long for Otherness. You wouldn't just be alone. You'd be lonely. Forever."
Gregor continued to stare at me with his black gem-like eyes for a long time. But eventually he turned away, and when he did, the tentacles that were holding onto Devona and me released us and slithered back into the walls and floor. Gregor walked several feet away, sat down heavily, and hung his head. Shamika looked at him for a moment before going over and sitting down next to him. She then put an arm around her brother and leaned against his ebon carapace. Then, as we watched, their two forms merged into one large amorphous black mass. The mass reformed, shrinking as it did so, until it became Shamika. Only this version of Shamika had Gregor's black gem-like eyes.
She smiled. "We're One again."
Devona came over to me then and put her arms around me. I only had one arm at that moment – the other lay on the floor where Gregor's tentacle had tossed it – but I wrapped it around her and hugged her as tight as I could.
A moment later there was a shimmering in the air next to the circle of magic-users, all of whom were just beginning to stir from their trance. Darius materialized and gazed down upon his dead body.
"I thought I felt someone shoot me," he said.
NINETEEN
I watched myself walk down the street, a black silhouette melting into the darkness around me.
And so it goes. Another case ended, and another waiting for me somewhere up the road. And though I was victorious, I felt nothing, for what had I really accomplished in the end? Sure, I'd tilted at a few windmills and saw to it that some very bad people got what was coming to them. But no matter how many cases I solve, no matter how many wrongs I right, at the end of the day I'm still a dead man playing at being alive – and that's all I'll ever be.
I'm Matt Richter, zombie PI. And my story continues… though sometimes I wish it didn't.
The Mind's Eye screen went blank, the orb closed its lid, and Devona clapped.
"I thought that was pretty good," she said.
I leaned back on the couch, looked up at the ceiling, and sighed. "I can't believe Varney finished that stupid film. This has to be the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me."
Devona scooted closer and put her arms around me. "More embarrassing than the time you accidentally switched bodies with Esperanza the Six-Breasted Stripper in the middle of one of her performances?"
"Much," I said. "I just pray Varney's producer doesn't get it in his head to do a sequel."
Once Devona learned who Varney really was, Galm ordered him to return to his job as a cameraman since his cover was blown and he could no longer guard Devona in secret. Devona hadn't been thrilled with the fact that her father had assigned a babysitter to watch over her, but she'd been impressed with Varney's skills and was considering asking him to leave Galm's employ and come to work for her at the Midnight Watch. One thing about my love: she doesn't hold a grudge, at least not where business is concerned. She still, however, wasn't happy that we'd had to return the holy objects the Hidden Light had loaned us. As powerful as the objects were, we could've made good use of them in our work, but I'd promised Maggie I'd return them, and a deal is a deal. Besides, I needed to stay on the Hidden Light's good side. Where else in this town am I going to get holy water and silver bullets? Plus, I can use all the good karma I can get.
Despite Devona's anger at Galm for sending one of his servants to guard her, she'd begun talking with him again, and while I doubted they'd ever be close – Galm wasn't exactly Father of the Year material – they were no longer quite as estranged as they'd been. I didn't trust him, and I knew Devona didn't either, but if she wanted to try to repair the rift between them, I would support her. He had come when Varney called, and without his help, we'd never have stopped Gregor. That counted for something. But I still planned to keep a close eye on the sonofabitch.
Devona hugged me tight, but there was no danger of my falling apart at the seams any more. My body was once again in good shape, thanks to Papa Chatha. After all the magic-users had been freed from Gregor's trance and the insects inside their heads removed, we'd all returned to the city. Once Papa was back in his place, he immediately saw to shoring up the cohesion spells that were keeping my body together, and he reattached my severed arm and fixed the acid-scarring on my face. All at no charge, which I thought was damn decent of him. I should rescue him more often.
Devona and I sat on the couch in our apartment, a number of cardboard boxes stacked against the wall behind us. Devona must've noticed me looking at them, for she said, "You going to miss this place? It's been your home since you first came to Nekropolis."
I looked around the living room, but the only memories of the apartment that came to my mind involved Devona.
I shook my head. "This place is just a few cramped rooms. It only became a home once you moved in."
She cuddled closer to me. "Good answer, Mr Richter."
Tomorrow Scorch, Bogdan, and a fully healed Tavi were going to s
how up and help us move our stuff into the Midnight Watch. I wasn't sure what it was going to be like living there, especially with the others around all the time. But if our children were going to be as magically gifted as Galm and Varvara thought they'd be, we needed a safe place to raise them, someplace where it would be harder for anyone who wanted to exploit their power to get at them. And since Devona still refused to accept her father's invitation to move into the Cathedral – a decision I wholeheartedly supported – the Midnight Watch seemed like our best alternative.
"I'm glad you approve, Mrs Richter."
Varvara had been so grateful for our part in exposing Klamm's true identity and ending the war between her and Talaith that, when she discovered Devona and I wanted to get officially married, she'd insisted on performing the ceremony herself – and more to the point, hosting the party afterward. Being a Darklord made Varvara one of the six highest authorities in this dimension, so she was as qualified to marry us as anyone else in the city. Besides, the true marriage between Devona and myself had taken place in our hearts. The ceremony was just an outward way to honor that commitment in front of friends and family. And I had to admit, Varvara threw one hell of a celebration for us afterward. It had been over a week, and I'd heard there were still people struggling to recover from their hangovers.
A small voice somewhere close by said, "I liked the movie too."
We turned and saw a roach-like insect clinging to the wall behind us. It quivered under our combined gaze as if frightened, but it didn't flee.
"Hi, Shamika," Devona said, speaking gently. "How are you doing?"
"Good," the insect said, still keeping its distance. "The two halves of my consciousness have finished merging mostly, but I'm still having trouble adjusting to my new personality. I'm sorry I haven't been around much. I mean, I've been around, of course. I just haven't been very… social. I hope you understand."
"Of course we do," Devona said. "We enjoy seeing you whenever you feel up to visiting. Isn't that right, Matt?"
"Yep." A zombie of few words, that's me.
After Shamika and Gregor merged on Ulterion, they'd returned to Nekropolis as one being, and eventually their change was passed on to every component of the Watchers throughout the city and beyond. Now all the Watchers were One, and that One was a combination of Gregor and Shamika. Gregor had hated and feared Otherness, and Shamika had been fascinated by it. The new personality that resulted from their merging liked Others well enough, but was shy around them, unsure how and when to interact. As such, Shamika – for the Watchers had chosen to be known by that name from now on – remained hidden in the shadows for the most part. But she no longer wanted to destroy Nekropolis and get rid of the Darkfolk, and with every passing day she seemed to – you'll pardon the expression – be coming out of her shell more. She'd even showed up in her teenage girl guise briefly at our wedding, just long enough to have a dance with me. She'd also taken to helping out around town. She'd already helped finish the reconstruction of the two bridges the Weyward Sisters had destroyed, and she was currently aiding in the reconstruction of the top level of Demon's Roost.
Darius – at least the version of him that appeared on Ulterion – bore me no ill will for shooting one of his selves. I'd known something that Gregor, for all his skills at gathering information, hadn't: one of the things that allows Darius to traverse dimensions is because, in a sense, he's a hive mind like Shamika, one consciousness spread across the entire Omniverse. Killing one aspect of him was akin to a human losing a toe. Painful and inconvenient, but not life-altering. Darius had offered to take Shamika to another dimension where the Darkfolk had never left Earth and where no other Watchers already existed, a place where she could be completely alone if she wished. He warned that it would take him a while to transport all of her, considering that her consciousness was contained in trillions of separate bodies, but he was willing to do it if she wanted. She'd considered his offer, but in the end she'd chosen to remain in Nekropolis. I was glad. A city of monsters just wouldn't seem complete without hordes of intelligent insects crawling around in the shadows. And, truth to tell, while I was glad Gregor's personality was no more, I'd grown more than a little fond of Shamika.
"Forgive me for snooping," Shamika said, "but I was in your bedroom a minute ago, and I saw you haven't packed up your computer yet."
Our laptop computer was a prime example of Victor Baron's flesh-tech: constructed from skin, bone, muscle, and specially designed organs, it lived, breathed, and moaned in complaint whenever asked to do even moderately complex tasks. Devona spoiled the damn thing rotten, which was why it wasn't packed up with our other belongings yet. She'd said she didn't want to hurt its feelings by sealing it away in a box and letting it sit there overnight. Me? I'd have been happy to leave it out on the curb with a sign that said FREE TO A GOOD HOME (OR EVEN A BAD ONE, JUST AS LONG AS YOU TAKE THE STUPID THING!).
Shamika continued. "Would you come into the bedroom with me? There's something I want to show you on the computer. I've been experimenting with uploading my consciousness to the Aethernet, and I think I've succeeded." She paused, and I could hear the girlish smile in her voice when she added, almost shyly, "I'm my own website!"
Devona looked at me and raised an eyebrow. In return, I shrugged. Shamika was an alien creature, and we didn't understand exactly how her hive-mind consciousness worked. Maybe she didn't have to confine herself to a strictly physical existence. But it did make me wonder. Nekropolis' Aethernet is connected to Earth's Internet via some kind of interdimensional connection, and if Shamika – or at least part of her – now existed on the virtual plane… well, the folks back home on Earth might be in for a surprise the next time they logged onto their computers.
"That sounds awesome!" Devona said. "Show me!" She held out her hand toward Shamika. The insect hesitated, then hopped onto the back of Devona's hand, skittered up her arm, and perched on her shoulder.
"Coming?" Devona asked me.
"I better not," I said. "Yesterday I tried to get the computer to open a new spreadsheet program I set up for client billing, and we, ah, had a disagreement." I held up my hand to show the scorch marks from where the computer had shocked me.
Devona laughed, and the insect on her shoulder giggled. Devona then stood and carried Shamika with her to the bedroom.
I settled back on the couch and mentally commanded our Mind's Eye set to tune into a razorball game between the Black Talons and the Intercity Manglers, but the set's eyelid remained stubbornly shut. I tried again, but the Mind's Eye still refused to cooperate. I was starting to wonder if the set was broken, when I heard a voice next to me.
"Don't bother. Not only will the Manglers continue their losing streak, it's going to be a dull game. Only three fatalities, none of them permanent."
I turned to see Father Dis sitting on the couch next to me.
"I know you're an ancient Roman god, so you might not know this, but there's a new concept these days called a 'spoiler.' It's generally considered good manners to avoid them."
Dis' lips stretched into a small, thin smile. "I'll try to remember that. I did see a very amusing program recently. It was a documentary about a tortured dead man trying to bring a tiny bit of justice to a city of unrelenting evil and darkness."
I groaned.
"Would you like me to tell you how many people watched it?" Dis asked.
"I don't want to know. I just hope everyone forgets about it – and me – eventually."
"There's little chance of that. You stopped a war between two Darklords and helped us make peace with the Watchers. If you thought you were well known before…"
I sighed. "At least Devona will be happy. The publicity will be good for business. And speaking of Devona…" I turned to look in the direction of the bedroom.
"Neither she nor Shamika can hear us talking," Dis said. "I've seen to that." He smiled. "Even if I hadn't, they're having too much fun playing with Shamika's website to pay any attention to us."
"Most of the Darklords try not to hold grudges. Given how long we live and how often we come into conflict, we'd never get anything done if we stayed mad at one another. But not Talaith." He shook his head. "Sometimes I think she lives to hold grudges. But to answer your question, she's keeping to herself these days, overseeing the restoration of the Greensward and layering it with even stronger protective spells than it possessed before. She did lodge a formal complaint with me against Varvara and Galm, and while I'm sure she'll seek revenge on both of them at some point, I expect her to behave herself for the time being. So the balance of power in the city remains intact, and I have you to thank for that, Matt."
I said, "Gratitude is good, but unfortunately you can't spend it."